


A Place for You

by singedbylife



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Theon Greyjoy-centric, Theonsa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singedbylife/pseuds/singedbylife
Summary: Season 8, episode 2 AU. Wrote this because I’m forever and always in need of an alternative ending.“But why aren’t you with her?” The queen looked confused.His heart swelled. There it was. The truth now. He turned his gaze towards the only woman in the room who truly mattered to him.” I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa.” He took a steadying breath. “If you’ll have me.”
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

I/III

Theon snorted quietly in wry amusement. What Gorold had said was mostly true; Winterfell was just as gloomy as Pyke inside, and its audience room was just as fucking cold. Normally, the men would have guffawed, but now they merely chuckled. Despite his uneasiness at being back inside Winterfell’s walls, Theon’s lips twitched upwards. He liked these men. All had volunteered to follow him, and no one had questioned his leadership - or Yara as queen of the iron islands. Not a single one of them was a poor fighter nor a poor shot though when it came to archery none of them were quite as good as he. They were all prepared to fight to their deaths if need be and he hoped it would never come to that. But he had seen with his own eyes what they were up against. Living corpses with only one purpose: to kill. And there were scores of them, hundreds, perhaps thousands. It was a terrifying thought. 

His eyes met Gorold’s. Ironborn to the bone, Gorold’s manners were crude, but he kept the spirits up among the men. And Gorold was no fool. He understood the need for laughs but he also understood when enough was enough. 

Approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts and he turned to greet Queen Daenerys. But his breath left him when he saw who was accompanying the queen. 

She seemed to tense up as their eyes met and for a short, horrible moment, he felt the need to babble an apology but quelled it. An apology might be due but not like that.

Of course, he knew she would be here. He had hoped to see her again. Speak to her again. Longed for it truthfully. He had told himself on his way back to Winterfell that he needed to see her not for selfish reasons but because he needed her consent to his being back here at all. When they had fled from Ramsay, she had believed that she wouldn’t make it without him, but he knew it was shocked fatigue and the cold that made her feel helpless. Time would have cleared her mind. Time would have made her see him in a different light altogether – would have made her remember who and what he also was and always would be. A man responsible for the deaths of two boys. A traitor to Robb. A man who let her be… over and over, and never did anything to stop it. He had been Reek when Sansa came to Winterfell and maybe she understood as much but he would accept it if she held those horrors against him too. After all, he did. If she could not bear the sight of him, he and his men would keep to themselves outside the gates of Winterfell and do what fighting could be done from there. But still he drank her in. She looked strong. Healthy. A beautiful, formidable presence. Pride and joy for her rid him momentarily of his dark thoughts. He forced his eyes back on the dragon queen and with one last apologetic glance at Sansa, he stepped forward and took a knee for Daenerys. He greeted the queen with a low, slightly breathless voice. “My queen,” he said. “Your sister,” she asked, looking puzzled.

He nodded. Most of the men gathered behind him had helped him rescue Yara, and he told the queen what had happened and what Yara intended to do.

“But why aren’t you with her?” The queen looked confused.

His heart swelled. There it was. The truth now. He turned his gaze towards the only woman in the room who truly mattered to him.

” I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa.” He took a steadying breath. “If you’ll have me.” 

His heart was beating unsteadily, fear of hurting her and of rejection running through him even though she had every right to refuse him. She looked to be on the verge of tears, and he wished she never had to shed another tear in her life. Her answer was to rush towards him and fling her arms around him. She made a gasp that sounded almost like a sob of relief. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He had imagined how she would react to seeing him again, but he had never dreamed of this. She shouldn’t want to hold him, but she did, and he had never known until now how much he needed her to hold him. How much he needed to hold her. He put his arms around her almost afraid to touch her too much but understanding her need. Sweet pain ran through him. He had never hugged Yara back. Yara had held him closely, even fiercely protective at times but it had felt like… Like he wasn’t allowed to receive or return affection. Like he wasn’t able to. But with Sansa… with Sansa it was different. He felt her hair against his cheek, her chin against his shoulder, and heard the hitch in her inhale as she burrowed impossibly closer. He closed his eyes, sorry for all that made her feel like she needed him. But still he tightened his grip, allowing himself to feel her body, his face to touch her ear, his nose to graze the seam of her dress, breathing her in, feeling his heartbeat thrumming through his veins. “Theon”, she whispered to him. “Theon.” He couldn’t form any words, but he savored the feeling of being held, of holding her. Of hearing his name on her lips. _Sansa_. He felt like crying.

Gingerly, she released him and stepped back. He straightened and stared at her shoulder unable to meet her eyes.

Sansa turned around and faced Daenerys who stood staring at them, face pale and slightly dismayed.

“Your grace,” Sansa said. “My apologies. It seems we must continue our conversation later.” Daenerys inclined her head at Sansa and nodded at the Ironborn and left the room. Sansa turned towards the men. They all seemed a bit discomfited, and she could not blame them. She drew herself back to her formal Lady of Winterfell self and addressed the men directly. She thanked them for coming to join the Great War. Told them it was an honor to have them here and thanked them for their courage. She instructed Lord Worton, her seneschal, to show Lord Greyjoy’s men where to sleep and eat. “I’m afraid we don’t have many rooms left but we have set up large tents outside. I promise you; you will not lack for food nor a warm place to sleep.” As the men turned to leave and follow Lord Worton, she held Theon back. “Not you, Theon, please”, she said in a low tone. 

In a voice that carried, she continued, “Lord Greyjoy was my father’s ward. As I am sure you know. We grew up together. But he is also the man who saved my life. Who rescued me from a monster who held me captive and who kept Lord Greyjoy himself captive for much longer. You would not wish to imagine the horrors Lord Greyjoy was subjected to during his captivity. And yet, he risked them all twice over for me. I am forever grateful to him for his bravery.” 

Theon’s face had drained of color, but he stood straight although his eyes didn’t meet hers. She noticed how his men lifted their heads in acknowledgement. She smiled and nodded her approval. “I know enough about the Ironborn and their prowess from Lord Greyjoy to know you will do fine on your own today. As long as there is plenty of food and ale, yes?” The men grinned in response. 

“Will this be alright with you, lord Theon,” she asked. He nodded once, giving her and his men a twitch of a smile, there and gone, and watched as his men left with Lord Worton. 

She had not seen Theon smile since before she left for King’s Landing all those many years ago. When he had been Ramsay’s, all she ever saw on his face was pain and sorrow. She looked closer at him now out of the corner of her eyes. His Ironborn armor suited him from what she could see of it under his long, gray waistcoat. The armor shaped his body pleasantly and made his shoulders broader. He wore a gambeson made of a studded, rough-woven material and his hands were covered by black leather gauntlet gloves made of very fine quality. 

He looked like a true lord. He no longer curled in on himself making himself seem smaller, and to her surprise they were nearly of a height. He was obviously travel worn and weary, and his hair was grimy from the journey, but it curled and had been cut. He looked... he looked handsome and her heart missed a beat at the realization. She had thought of Theon often. She had worried about him endlessly. Praying that he be safe. That no more harm came to him. But she hadn’t spoken much about him after Winterfell was her family’s again. Not to Jon nor to Arya. Certainly not to Bran who knew everything anyway. In fact, only the closest members of her staff were aware of how much Theon had been on her mind. But she had never thought of him as handsome before. His face was finely shaped. He had sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline and lips that looked ridiculously soft.

“You look well, Theon,” she offered, annoyed at the slight huskiness in her voice. She cleared her throat.

“As do you, my lady.” He looked at her. His eyes had always been quite remarkable, but she had forgotten that when he had been Reek. Now she noticed their blue and green hues as if seeing them for the first time. “It’s very good to see you again, lady Sansa,” he added softly, and she blushed a bit; It seemed as if all of him had changed. Even the way he spoke. She found she liked the changes and the way he sounded. Deeper. Softer. Earnest. His voice was no longer subdued from fear or sharp with arrogant adolescent insecurities. He sounded the way he had when he told her to go North. When he had meant to sacrifice his life in order to save hers. She was serious when she had told his men that he risked all that he had been through twice over. Her heart ached at the torture Ramsay would have inflicted on him if he had been recaptured and brought back to Winterfell. And yet, Theon had meant it and left her to go do just that; sacrifice himself. And now he was here again. Willingly returning to what may once again be certain death at the place that bore no truly happy memories for him. 

He had been her father’s hostage. Just as she had been the Lannisters’. She did not understand it then but when he had told her he wanted to go home and she realized he meant Pyke, she had finally begun to grasp it. He had lived inside these walls for more than half his life, but Winterfell had never been his home. She meant to change that. 

“Wait here, please.” She got hold of a couple of servants just outside the audience room and gave them thorough instructions. Theon stood a bit uncertain and looking out of place when she returned. She took his arm. 

“I know you must be tired and hungry,” she said, “and I know this is abrupt but before anything else today I need to show you where I ended his life.” A shudder ran through him and she placed her other hand on top of his arm and carried on relentlessly because if anyone would appreciate and understand what she had done, it would be Theon. He deserved to know all of it.

“He died screaming like a pig. I wanted him to hurt. To think of you and me and what he had done. To us. To my family. To the North. I wish you had been here to see it.” He turned his face and looked at her, eyes big and so, so sad. She felt her face heat.

“I’m not cruel. I – I just… needed him to suffer.”

He shook his head. “Nothing could ever be done to him that would make you seem cruel, San - Lady Sansa. I’m glad he’s dead. I’m glad he didn’t die an easy death.” She nodded but said no more.

She led him along the hallways and finally outside. It was still early morning, and the air was crisp and clear. The sun shone low on the horizon and left the inner courtyard in mostly shadows. Still, it was hard to believe Death was marching towards them when you looked up at the beautiful winter blue sky. Theon’s arm was warm and solid against her own and his breath left him in small clouds of white mist that dusted the tips of his curls as he accompanied her docilely. 

Just outside the kennels, he stopped in his tracks. 

“You ended him in there,” he breathed. 

“I did,” she said. 

She opened the door and all but half dragged Theon inside. She waited a few moments for them to get used to the darkness and for Theon to being here at all. It was so cold. She remembered seeing Theon here for the first time. On the floor inside a dog cage. Ramsay had not even allowed him a blanket. He had been lying on the damp ground in his threadbare, dirty clothes. He must have been always cold. He must have been always hurting.

“I had him chained to a chair right there. Just across the… place where you slept. Jon had beaten his face to a pulp. And I set his own dogs loose on him. They were starving. He’d told me so himself before the battle.” She drew in a shattering breath. She was trembling. It was so cold. 

“They tore off most of his face to begin with. Part of his jaw too. His lips. Then they started eating his stomach. I watched them pull out his intestines. He was screaming the entire time. And I felt nothing but glee. I smiled as I left.” The last words came out in a breathless rush. Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and she began to shake even more. She blinked rapidly. 

“Oh, Sansa,” Theon said. “Sansa. Don’t cry. He deserved it for what he did to you. Nothing could be done to him to ever make him suffer enough for what he did to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Nothing could be done to him that would ever make him suffer enough for what he did to you either,” she said. “Don’t you understand that? I wish with all my heart he’d suffered more and for much longer. I don’t care if it makes me sound like a monster.” She shuddered.

He closed his eyes and a tremor passed over him. The skin on his face tightened for a moment. Then he reached out and gently took hold of her arm and raised his eyes to look at her. With an unsteady hand, she in turn reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. Neither said anything, but they held each other’s eyes. Quietly accepting… everything, she supposed. She watched as he closed his eyes. His hold on her arm remained solid and firm. It felt soothing. She hoped her touch filled him with the same peace. She closed her eyes, listening to their combined breaths. It was calming. When their eyes met again, they both stilled for a moment. Then he stepped back, letting go of her entirely. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse.

They left the kennels in silence, with Theon closing the gate. He stood facing the kennel entrance for a moment before he let go of the handle and turned to meet her eyes. He looked pale and exhausted, and she was certain she looked the same. “May I take your arm,” she asked, and he drew in a sharp breath before he nodded. 

She led them to the great hall closest to the kitchens, Theon by her side. He was withdrawn and obviously weary. She had no idea when he had last slept or had anything to eat and drink and so she had a bowl of porridge served for him along with a few wedges of hard cheese. She excused the lack of a better fare, but he helped himself to the food gratefully. She watched him closely and blushed when he glanced up at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed at her scrutiny. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just… I’ve wanted to see you like this. Eating proper food, sitting at a proper table. Wearing proper clothes... It’s nearly been driving me mad at times.” She laughed a little, but she meant every word.

He put his spoon down. He spoke carefully. “It took me some time to relearn what it was like. To be a person. To be treated like a person. In the beginning I kept wanting to hide. Everybody seemed to be my betters. Yara, my sister, she hated it. She kept insisting I act and think like… like Theon Greyjoy.” He glanced up at her. “I’m better now. I don’t take anything for granted – but it feels good to be able to – be normal.” He hesitated, something passing over his face. “On occasion, I’ve even been known to laugh.” She huffed in surprise. 

He looked down at his plate, a small smile on his face that disappeared all too soon. He continued, “What I do now and when I do it is by my own choice. I’ve been used to living like this, like a real person for a long time.” He looked back up at her. “Because of you. His gaze made her blush. He continued, “but it took far too long… to break the spell. And for that I’m so very sorry.” She began to protest, but he shook his head.

”But without you to help me remember myself, I never would have.”

She smiled at him. “Still, it’s lovely to be able to see it for myself,” she said gently. She looked around wanting to change the mood. 

“This reminds me of before. Back when Arya would throw food at me, and you would be insufferable and laugh. I thought it was so unfair. I always behaved like a proper lady and I thought all of you were so rude. I was just a silly little girl, always feeling so much better than any of you.” She shook her head. “I know, it wasn’t just me, we were all just silly little children. But I long for those days. When all my problems weren’t problems at all. I mean, who cares about table manners?”

His lips twitched. Then he looked up at her and with an attitude she hadn’t seen in years, he opened his mouth and popped a piece of cheese directly into his open mouth. “I’m glad you think so,” he said as he chewed, and when she huffed at his display of lack of proper table manners, he smiled. Her heart skipped a beat as she grinned back at him and her heart raced. Maybe he was not quite done with pretense, but she appreciated his effort at making light of anything. 

“I had my own wishes for you as well,” he said, once again back to the serious way he talked now. “I hoped… I wanted you to be safe. To sit like this, looking happy. That was always my dream since I left.” He was about to say “you” but stopped himself. He didn’t want to imply that his leaving had meant anything in particular to her. He didn’t even deserve her spending time with him like this. They could all be dead in a few days. She should be spending time with her family, not wasting it on him.

Her next words took him by surprise. 

“I have missed you, Theon,” she said softly. “I have thought much about you since you left. And I have thought about your life here, both before and during _him_. What Winterfell has been to you. And what it wasn’t.” She bit her lip. “I would like to show you something.” At his nervous glance, she added. “Something good.” She rose, “Will you come with me?” He stood, rather stiffly, nodded and followed her.

As they approached the wing that she was turning into the new solar, she was almost giddy but didn’t let anything show. Theon walked beside her with a carefully blank face.

The hallway was quiet. This part of the castle had not been opened to strangers. 

The wing had a large room with groups of tables and chairs meant for less formal gatherings centered around two great fireplaces. It ended in a short hallway with only a few doors on either side leading into separate chambers, each one with a personal privy, a luxury in a castle as old as Winterfell.

“Welcome home, Theon,” she said as she opened a heavy oak door leading into one of the chambers.

Inside, the main room was exactly as she had wanted it to be. The maids had lit the fire in the fireplace, and there were flickering candles placed on the table. A small oil lamp, also lit, was placed on a desk similar to the one she remembered from Theon’s old room. Two chairs had been draped with furs and blankets, a smaller table stood by the window. There was a wardrobe to one side and in the middle against the wall, a bed, freshly made with pillows and furs and clean linens underneath. In front of the fireplace, a tub had been filled with steaming hot water. Soap, scented oils, and clean towels were placed inside the small open cupboard next to it. Beside the tub were two large, lidded pots with additional hot water.

He stood as frozen. His eyes darted from the pieces of furniture to the tub to the bed. Over it, a small, embroidered tapestry was hung. “We Do Not Sow” it said on its blue background, ornately decorated with hand-stitched letters, each one entwined by embroidered sea-creatures: fish, lobsters, seals. Green and red leaves symbolizing seaweed framed the piece. Each detail had been stitched with great care. 

“You… you made this room for me?” 

“I did. I… Do you like it?”

At this his face crumbled. He tried to make the sob soundless but there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the way his body shook.

Then her arms were around him, and she combed her fingers through his neck hair. “I have been wanting to show you this room for so long. I wanted you to know that you have a home at Winterfell too. That you are welcome here and that you can always stay for as long as you want. Forever, should you choose to do so.” She leaned back a little trying to catch his eyes. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t dare hope that you would actually return to Winterfell, but making this room for you, and just for you was something that pleased me. And now you’re here to see it for yourself.” She smiled at him.

He wrenched himself loose and stumbled over to one of the chairs and sat down heavily. Frustrated, he rubbed the tears away from his face.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said. “I... this is all too much. And I don’t deserve this, Sansa. I don’t. No one should want me to stay here. I’m Theon Turncloak. I… I took this castle. I did terrible things. And… and Reek. So many horrible things happened, and I did nothing to stop it. I don’t belong in Winterfell. Not like this.”

“But you do. I’m the Lady of Winterfell and I consider you to be my closest friend. Yes, Theon. You,” she said at his naked gaze. “I can think of no one who knows me better than you do. No one who understands me better. And I think no one understands you better than I do. Are we not friends, Theon?”

He closed his eyes. “I’d be honored to be called your friend, Sansa, but I shouldn’t be.”

When he opened them, she was kneeling on the floor in front of him.

“No, please, don’t,” he said and made to get up, but she shook her head and took hold of his hands. He made as if to pull free, but she would have none of that and tightened her grip a fraction, which immediately made him cease any struggle. She felt tears sting her eyes. Wary, he met her eyes. She couldn’t bear the guarded look in them. It reminded her too much of then. Instead, she averted her gaze, and stared at his gloved hands captured in hers. She knew holding him like this would make him feel trapped, and she hated it. She hated how she could feel that his little finger was nothing but stuffed filling. She hated all of it. The tip of her nose was pink, and her lips were pressed together tightly. Her chin began to tremble. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered from above. “I’m sorry. I always say and do everything wrong.” 

She shook her head and looked up at him then. “Was saving Bran’s life wrong?” she asked. “He told me about the day you killed a man who threatened his life.” 

She had learned about this only yesterday. Bran had been staring at nothing with that unreadable expression of his when he suddenly blinked and began speaking to her. She loved her brother, though truth be told there was hardly anything left of him. But if Sansa had learned anything about Bran as he was now it was this: he only spoke for a reason. She hadn’t told Bran much, not since he shocked her in the Godswood speaking so precisely about her wedding night. It was very hard to know that in a way, Bran had been a witness too. 

But if Bran knew about her past, he also knew about Theon’s. Knew about all the horrors he’d been subjected to and would have known yesterday that Theon was on his way to Winterfell. There was always a reason with Bran. She just didn’t know if this moment was it.

She took a deep breath and continued. “Was rescuing me wrong? Or your sister?” 

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Then stop believing the lies _he_ filled your head with. Or the ghosts of your past. Those ghosts don’t know who you are now. Who you truly are. All of us have done wrong. They all did wrong. But this is now. We do our best to do what’s right now. We have learned. And you have done nothing wrong for years, Theon. Not willingly.” He opened his mouth, no doubt to repeat his litany of wrongdoings again but she wouldn’t let him. 

“What Ramsay did to you was devastat...” 

“Sansa,” he exclaimed, sounding nearly irritated. “Two boys are dead because of me. That had nothing to do with Ramsay! I let a man slit their throats and burn their bodies so I could keep Winterfell. I made that decision. Me!”

She pressed her lips together and breathed in deeply through her nose. 

“It’s a terrible crime. And I know how much you regret it. I know that Ramsay was able to do what he did to you for so long because you think you deserved it. That you saw all that he did to you as just punishment.” She shook her head. 

“Did you know that nearly all the men who’re close to me, who are dear to me, are responsible for the deaths of children? You are nothing special in that regard. But you _are_ the only one I know who regrets. Who – torments himself over and over because of guilt. What that tells me about you is…” She felt tears prick her eyes. 

“Please, Theon. Listen to me. What Ramsay did was evil. It had nothing to do with justice. He had me for months, but you were with him for years. I can’t imagine.” The last came out a whisper.  
“I know it will take years or a lifetime to get rid of his filth from our minds and bodies, but I can’t bear it if you keep on hating yourself so. You may not forgive yourself but please let those of us who can, do. Please. You have suffered enough. And… I deserve to see you happier. Because I need it to be able to heal myself. Please, Theon.”

His eyes shifted until they settled on hers. “Sansa,” he said. She wished he didn’t sound so sad. “I will try. For you, I shall. I promise.”

She eased the hold on his hands. “Thank you.”

He looked around the room once more, her hands still warm around his gloved ones. He looked back at her. Somehow, he mattered to her. Much more than he would have thought. He would hurt her if he kept on insisting that he didn’t deserve her concern or care. He didn’t want to hurt her, not ever.

“This is amazing,” he whispered. “This room. The tapestry. It’s the kindest thing anyone has done for me ever.”

She smiled and let go of his hands and got back up on her feet. He did as well. She looked around the room. “I enjoyed making all of it. I’m so glad you get to see it.” She nodded towards the wardrobe. “There are clean clothes in there for you. Not many but... If I had known what your House’s clothes looked like, I would have sewn them just like that. But at least you can wear something soft and clean under your outer clothes. That way you’ll still look like you - a prince of the Iron Islands.” She hesitated. “I would like you to look like the real you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to change who you are and…” She hesitated. “Your Ironborn clothes suit you very much.” She fiddled with her dress, and continued, “Now, please enjoy the bath while it’s warm. Rest for a bit. Or do exactly as you please. The maids won’t come for the bath water until I tell them to, so you won’t be disturbed either way. My room is next to yours on the left. If I’m not there, will you find me as soon as you can?” 

He frowned but nodded mutely.

As she was about to open the door, she turned. “Your armor. Do you need help getting out of it?” 

He was lost for words for a moment.” Thank you,” he replied slowly. “But I can manage. It’s not heavy.” His lips twitched. “It’s not armor like what you have in the North. Truthfully, it’s not worth much in terms of fending off battle swords or lances. It’s made for the sea. Mustn’t weigh us down.”

“It’s very handsome,” she said. “Though I pray it’s stronger than you say.”

“There’s iron in front of my heart,” he smiled gently. “Besides, men have been killed because their heavy armor slowed them down.” He looked at her and held her gaze. “The only way to be safe during a battle is to stay well out of it. And I don’t want to do that, Sansa. But if it makes you feel happier – if I had to choose – I’d prefer mine own. I can move fast and freely. It makes me feel as safe as I can ever be.” 

He looked back down at the carved kraken on his breastplate. “And I’ll be honest with you, I like how it looks too.” 

“You were always just as vain as I was,” she laughed. “Very well, when you’re ready, please go find me. Ask for Lord Worton. You will want to see your men first I’m sure and he’ll know where they are. I’ll tell my siblings that you’re here though I suspect they already know. And Theon, they know enough of what happened and what you did for me. They are grateful you got me away from him.”

“I met Jon on Dragonstone,” he said slowly. “I learned about the Battle of the Bastards there. Not in so many words, but… Before we left Dragonstone, Jon said…” His voice trailed off. “In the end, what he told me was very kind,” he managed. “I’ll be seeing you later today, my lady. Thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2

II/III

But he didn’t come for her. Reports had come in later that same morning that the dead weren’t days away as they had hoped but would arrive at Winterfell sometime after midnight. There was no time for anything but making sure everybody knew exactly what to do and where to be once the battle begun. Theon had nodded politely at her when the representatives from each House and faction were assembled inside the war room late in the afternoon but otherwise, he didn’t look in her direction at all. Instead, he listened thoughtfully to all that was said. Bran told them the Night King wanted him, and always knew where he would be because Bran bore his mark. He continued on to say that he would stay in the Godswood for that reason. It was insane, and Sansa exclaimed “You want us to use you as bait?”, and Arya added “We’re not leaving you alone out there.”

“He won’t be.” Theon’s voice was calm and clear. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He looked at Bran. “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.”  


Sansa watched as Bran accepted Theon’s offer with a solemn nod.

Her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear what was said afterwards. So, this was it. He was determined to sacrifice his life once again. She was going to lose him before they really got to know each other at the persons they were now. He wouldn’t even get to sleep in his room. She cursed herself for feeling so childishly wronged.

As soon as the meeting was over, she went to him. “Theon, wait.” He stopped and turned around and waited until everyone had left the room. 

“Theon, why…” but she knew why as soon as she started asking. She knew why and she understood why but she just didn’t like why. The truth was someone had to protect Bran out there and Theon had offered to do so willingly. She licked her lips. “Never mind,” she said. “We still have hours left before they come. What will you do now?”

“I need to tell my men of where we’ll be tonight,” he replied hesitantly.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she whispered. “It frightens me – what you will do.” 

“My men are good fighters, Sansa – we’ll keep your brother safe,” he said gently. “And Jon and Queen Daenerys will keep us protected from the sky. We won’t be left to ourselves out there.”  


“Of course,” she said. “You’re right. It’s just – rather overwhelming to think of. Bran in his chair unable to help with anything, and you and your men… alone. It seems too dangerous. I’d rather he stayed with us inside the castle proper or in the crypts and you and your men behind the main gates of Winterfell as well. The Godswood is so isolated and exposed. And I know that’s the point. That Bran believes this will save more lives than if he remained inside.” 

She couldn’t quite wrap her head around Bran’s plan. Not really. But he was the Three-Eyed Raven, they had no other option but to trust him. “But you’re right, of course. The dragons will be there as well. The Night King probably won’t even make it to the Godswood.”  


He nodded, his eyes dark. 

“Once you’ve spoken to your men – afterward, will you meet me outside by the soup tent? I just... I would like to share this evening’s meal with you, Theon. Please.”

He looked surprised. Then he nodded. “Of course, my lady. Sansa. Thank you.”

She went up to her room to fetch her gloves and her cloak. She thought of seeking out her siblings to wish them luck and say goodbye, but, like her, they had gone elsewhere to spend time with people they knew and cared about. It was only natural when doom was impending, she thought – to seek out those they loved and not waste a single moment of what might be their last day alive. She told any servant she encountered to go be with their loved ones.

He was waiting for her when she stepped outside. Together they waited in line behind the others. She took her bread bowl filled to the brim with thin soup and, once Theon’s had his as well, they went in search for somewhere to sit. There weren’t any tables left but they found two makeshift benches close to a bonfire. Quietly, they sat down opposite one another. She wasn’t very hungry and merely poked at the bowl, sipping rather than eating much out of her spoon.

Theon didn’t say anything. He looked at her in stolen glances and was finished eating his soup quickly and then sat awkwardly back with a very straight back. He was pleased but uncertain as to why she wanted to spend time with him on this night and he was unsure what to say to her. She looked in his direction but somehow, it seemed as if they danced around each other, none of them quite willing to look into each other’s eyes. Admittedly, he was afraid to meet her gaze. Afraid to show sorrow or affection, and feeling inadequate in every way. But whenever he sensed that she was facing away from him, he looked up at her. He wished he knew a way to tell her how much she meant to him. How much he wanted everything to be different. How much he wished he were a good man. 

She caught him staring at her and he turned his eyes downwards. 

He had so many regrets. There was nothing left for him but to do his best to protect her brother, hoping that he was protecting them all by doing so. 

He didn’t expect to live through the night. Dragons or no, the Godswood would be hard to defend if the dead were able to reach the walls despite the planned defense meeting them outside, and despite the plans to light the trenches if they came too close. Of course, some claimed wights weren’t capable of working together and that fire would surely kill them. Others said that they couldn’t even cross water. If that were the case, he didn’t understand why they hadn’t moved Bran far out to sea when they had time. Onboard a ship, they might have stood a better chance. He sighed and stole another glance at Sansa.

The flickering lights from the surrounding bonfires made her glow. She was beautiful. He looked back down and swallowed. He loved her. He loved her so much it hurt. And he shouldn’t. 

“Theon.”

His head whirled upwards. She was staring at him. “My lady,” he croaked. 

She shook her head. “I never used to be my lady or Lady Sansa to you when we grew up. I don’t want to be Lady Sansa to you. Especially not tonight.”

He nodded and drew in a breath. “Sansa,” he said. She bit her lips and then she placed her bowl on the bench and reached out to take hold of his hand. He stared at gloved fingers closing over his. He was still holding on to his empty bowl, but he moved it out of the way with his free hand. His breathing was shallow-like and too fast, but he managed to fold his fingers around hers. He had to close his eyes shortly, fearing he might begin to cry. 

“Will you come with me,” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“With you?”

“Yes, please. I want to go inside for a while. I’m cold.”

She held his hand the entire walk through the castle. He remembered the first time they held hands. Remembered hearing Ramsay and his men returning and Sansa looking too shocked to move and then how he had grabbed her hand, and pulled her urgently after him. Remembered how she had trustingly placed her hand back in his just before they jumped. He looked down now. Somehow their fingers had become entwined. He felt dizzy.

She took them to his room. There was still a fire lingering in the fireplace. The tub had been removed, and a few candles were lit. He turned to look at her again. 

“Sansa.” She looked at him the same way she had this morning. Eyes shining, on the verge of tears.

“Will you hold me,” she asked. “Please, hold me?”

Wordlessly, he drew her close and held her tight. She wrapped her arms around him and placed her cheek on his shoulder. “Would you take off your armor,” she asked in a whisper into the crook of his neck. “I can’t feel you.” There was a hitch to her voice. “I need to feel you for real.” She was crying, he realized. “Sansa,” he whispered again feeling helpless, but he stepped back to unfasten his spaulders and breastplate and placed the armor on the floor. Free of iron and leather he returned to her and took her back into his arms. Now that he could feel her body against his own, she suddenly felt smaller. “It’s going to be alright, Sansa,” he whispered into her hair.

“You can’t know that,” she said. “No one can.”

He wanted to kiss the top of her head. “No,” he whispered. “But we will do whatever we can to make it so.”

She didn’t answer but her tears continued. Silently, wetting his cheek and his hair. He blinked and realized that he was crying as well. 

She shifted position to rest her forehead against his, lips open as if she couldn’t breathe otherwise. Her face and lips were wet with tears. He licked his own lips, tasting saltwater. Would that he could change everything. Would that she didn’t have to be so miserable. He raised his eyes. If only he could make her happy but, in her eyes, he saw only despair and sorrow, his own reflection mirrored. I love you, he thought. I love you and I’m so sorry. Saddened beyond words, he closed his eyes, and suddenly as if in an underwater dream he felt soft lips slowly touch his own. He shook at the contact and his eyes opened. She was looking at him through wet lashes and she slowly tilted her face and kissed him again. His breath left him in a shuddering exhale, and he closed his eyes and helplessly kissed her back, wetness, salt, and tenderness mixed. Somehow his fingers became entangled in her hair.

They withdrew in a gasp. For a moment they stood utterly still, stealing each other’s breaths. “Sansa,” he whispered and searched her face. He wanted to tell her that this was a mistake but instead he moved to kiss the tears from her face, her eyes, her chin. He covered her cheek with soft little kisses, and she sighed so sweetly, he had to cup her face and look at her in wonder before he leaned in, trying to catch his breath once more. They kept their close distance, brows pressed together, lightly swaying, both feeling breathless.

“Will you lie with me, Theon?”

He stiffened. “I – I can’t. I’m not... He – he cut me, Sansa. I’m ruined. I’m not whole.” 

She searched his face, and he wondered if she understood what he meant. Shame suffused him and he had to look away. Her hand on his face brought him back. “Please come lie with me,” she whispered. “Whatever he cut away doesn’t take away who you are to me. Let’s be in a bed where no one will hurt us.” He blinked at her, his lips thinning. She pulled off her gloves and ran her thumb over his cheekbone, smearing remains of tears away, and he had to close his eyes. “Please,” she repeated and kissed him softly once again.

He followed her to the bed. She removed her cloak, let it fall to the floor. Then she unlaced her boots and stepped out of them before she turned her back to him. “Will you help me,” she asked. “Yes,” he whispered, and took off his gloves, and untied her bodice with unsteady hands. He helped her out of her dress in silence. She turned back towards him, wearing only her long shift and stockings and loosened her hair. Wordlessly, she began unlacing his doublet, shrugged it off over his shoulders, and pulled it free off his arms. It fell to the floor. She looked at the soft new undershirt he was wearing, and her lips moved upwards in a small, pleased smile. She loosened the strings around his neck and pulled the shirt more open. He opened his mouth to warn her, but no words would come out. Instead, he carefully removed her hands, and stepped back to take off his boots and socks, unable to look her in the eyes. He pulled off his undershirt and kept it in a bundle by his side. She looked at him. Large crosses were burned or carved into his shoulders. His chest and stomach were covered in gruesome scars. A nipple was missing, and her breath hitched. She felt the sting of tears once more and gently reached out to remove the bundled-up shirt from his hand. Then she took his hand and drew him carefully to her and kissed him softly once more. He was trembling when she let go of him but still, he began unlacing his breeches, fumbling with the strings until she stopped him. 

“You don’t have to take them off in front of me. I – I’m not sure I can undress in front of you either. But I know I want to feel you, all of you close to me in bed.” she whispered.

He pressed his lips together. Then he nodded, his expression showing sadness and understanding. Slowly, he said, his voice slightly hoarse, “We could undress on either side of the bed and wait until we’re both under the covers before we face each other.”

“I’d like that.”

He moved to the other side of the bed and turned away from her. She did the same. She heard his remaining clothes fall to the floor as did hers. The bed creaked as he snuck under the covers and soon, she followed. The air suddenly felt oddly thick as if she couldn’t breathe properly and the sound of her own swallowing seemed much louder to her ears than usual.

“May I turn around,” he whispered from behind her. 

“Yes,” she said and turned towards him as he moved around to face her.

Neither said anything as they looked at one another. Her fingers began fidgeting nervously at the pillow. This was her idea, but now she felt uncertain and nervous. 

“Come here,” he said, not in an unkind way, and although she trusted him more than anyone, she had to steel herself before she slid closer to him. He reached out and gently moved her hair aside. Then he began caressing her shoulder. His hand was warm and safe and trailed upwards and over her ear to slide back and cradle the back of her head. Expertly he drew tiny circles on her skin. Kneaded it with just enough pressure to make her sigh in contentment. He proceeded to scrape his fingernails along her scalp lifting and parting her neck hair carefully. It gave her delicious goosebumps. He moved to softly massage her temples, first one and then the other, and then her brow. It felt wonderful. After a while she sighed blissfully. “Gods, Theon, this feels so nice, I’d never…” Her voice trailed off. She smiled at him.

He traced her eyebrows and nose with soft fingertips as his lips lifted in a half-smile. “I know,” he said. “A head massage is almost as wonderful as...”

He didn’t finish. “As what,” she asked although she had an idea. “Nothing”, he said, feigning innocence. “Nothing beats a good head rub, my lady.”

She laughed. “Don’t ‘my lady’ me now, you tease.” He grinned at her. Then his smile disappeared, and he studied her eyes and face closely. Her throat went dry and she felt shy. He tilted his head, keeping his eyes on hers, and very slowly dipped in to kiss her softly on the lips. She sighed in contentment and put her arms around him and moved herself closer to him. He felt warm and soft and safe. He hummed and licked the corner of her upper lip. It startled her, and she gasped. 

He stopped and looked at her to gauge whether he had crossed a line or merely surprised her. “May I kiss you this way?” he asked. She searched his face. He would never try to do anything to hurt her. Mutely, she nodded. His hand left her head and traveled down to her shoulder where it supported her, solid and safe. Then he kissed her again. Lips first, and then his tongue was coaxing her lips apart with soft strokes and gentle swipes. When she felt the tip of his tongue along the inner edge of her lips, she whimpered. She was unsure what to do but parted her lips a bit more and took hold of his shoulders because she needed to hold onto him, to feel his warm skin, to feel _him_. His hand went up to cradle the back of her neck, the other hand snuck out from under the cover to caress her shoulder. He ran the tip of his tongue over her teeth and then dipped in and met her tongue. He withdrew and returned, dancing inside her mouth. Her face tickled as if small butterflies were twirling on her cheeks, and each warm stroke of his tongue tugged and tickled at something deep inside her. 

Slowly, she began to respond. Licking, sucking. Making clumsy mistakes but he made a deep, humming sound in approval and their kissing became bolder. Greedier. At times, they would slow down, merely sliding their lips against each other, eyes locked, breathing in rhythm, and then devouring each other again. “Oh, gods,” he sighed after long moments of lips and tongues and contented sighs. “You’re so lovely. Beautiful, sweet Sansa. I could kiss you forever.”

But he didn’t. Instead, he lay down flat on his back, his head turned towards her, his chest heaving. His hair was tousled, and his lips were red and swollen. She touched her own to test if they were the same. He huffed out a small laugh while trying to catch his breath. “You’ve been thoroughly kissed, my lady. It shows. As have I. You’re a natural kisser, Sansa.” 

“Am I?”

“No,” he said with a fond smile. “You’re much more than that. You’re the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

His expression changed, grew serious. He rolled back on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Sansa, I would never make fun of you,” he said in earnest. “I’ve never felt this way kissing anyone. Your lips, your taste, your – you. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Flattered, she blushed. “I’ve never kissed anyone… this way. It’s… lovely. Wonderful, really. But it’s because it’s you. Because I trust you.” Then she laughed. “Gods, I could feel it inside myself when we kissed! I didn’t know that was possible. Is that normal? I didn’t want it to stop!”

He smiled warmly, and perhaps even a little smugly at her. 

“If you’ll let me, I can make you feel wonderful all over.”

“What will you do?” She was a little nervous. 

“Kiss you some more?” he smiled. “But also let my fingers and my lips and my tongue walk down your body, touching you so gently and softly, it will make you melt.” As he said this, he started caressing her shoulder, then finger-walked down her arm to caress her hand, sliding his fingers in between her own. He slowly lifted her hand towards his mouth, kissed one of her fingertips, and sucked the tip in between his lips, sucking gently, teasing it lightly with his teeth and tongue. She had to bite her lip in order not to make the moan she felt like making. How could someone sucking on your fingertip create such tickling, exiting sensations within her? Make her core tingle? Make her heart race? She drew in a shuttering breath. “Oh,” she said.

He smiled and placed another gentle kiss on her fingers and let go.

“I will stop if or when you tell me to, and I’ll never do anything that hurts. I will treat your body with respect and care – with the awe you deserve, Sansa. If you’ll let me.” 

She blushed. Her throat felt dry, but she managed an “I will,” her voice slightly hoarse. Her heart was hammering away but all she saw in Theon’s eyes was joy and tenderness.

He pushed the top layer of furs away and rolled over and sat up on his haunches, his body partly covered by the thin white linen fabric under the furs. Despite the scars, his body was handsome, she thought. His chest hair was sparse and golden, and his chest and arms were lean and strong. It was hard to understand that he had once seemed small and fragile when the many marks on his body showed how incredibly strong, he was even then. 

He rearranged the pillows so that she was propped slightly more upright. He worked meticulously making sure the top sheet covered her body below her shoulders and he removed all of the heavier furs and blankets, placing them at the foot of the bed. He then leaned in and whispered, “Are you comfortable like this?” to which she nodded. 

He took her hand in his. “Being touched while lying still can feel lovely if you’re with someone you trust.” He swallowed and looked away for a moment. “Other times, it can feel restraining.” He gazed intently at her. “I don’t want you to feel trapped, Sansa. If you feel uncomfortable or if you want to move, or shift position you can always do so, just like you can touch me or tell me to stop. All I want is to please you. For you to feel good.” 

“I know,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

He let go of her hand to run his fingers softly through her hair before bending down to kiss her sweetly on her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered into the shell of her ear and kissed her earlobe. She blushed again as he slowly began to kiss his way down her throat. He ran his lips along the edge of her collarbone, kissed each bared shoulder and traveled back up again to trace her jawline with his lips and tongue, stealing a few kisses from her mouth as well. He let his fingers trail down on top of the thin fabric covering her, sliding his hand in wavy patterns down between her breasts, careful not to uncover her. Maintaining eye contact he bent his head very slowly and then put his mouth to the spot where one of her nipples hid. She inhaled sharply, and he flicked his tongue against the tip slowly but persistently, and it felt as if something sizzling shot through her at each careful flick and swirl. She gasped and arched slightly upwards at the touch, her entire body thrumming, a sweet, tickling ache growing between her legs.

He played with her breast, the same way he had done with her fingertip, teasing at it through the linen with his lips and gentle nips of his teeth, sucking at it lightly while his other hand stole down to caress her other breast. Soon the fabric where his mouth was working was wet, and he could see her pink nipple shine through the thin covering. He blew lightly on it and the cool sensation hardened her rosy bud, making it stand up like a beautiful little peak under the fabric. He gave it one last gentle flick, smiled, and switched to her other nipple, enjoying how responsive Sansa was, and realizing that he was groaning in something akin to his old sense of lust. He showed the same attention to her other breast, and once the nipple was as hard as the other one still was, nuzzled at it with the tip of his nose as if he was an adoring puppy. He groaned again, his body nearly twitching in want and need from pleasuring her.

Breathlessly, he asked, “May I pull the covers a little lower?” Her response was to push the linens herself, all the way down below her navel. “Sansa,” he breathed as he took in the sight before him. “Oh, Sansa.” He bent forward and kissed her mouth again and then moved back to cup her naked breasts reverently, looking back up at her. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said and bent to slide his lips over one of her bared nipples. He groaned loudly, and so did she. The sight of his lips on her, the feeling of his wet, hot softness engulfing her, his eyes gleaming made her sex throb. Feverishly, she gazed at him until he let go and moved up to kiss her mouth again. This time, he seemed even more hungry for her and she reached out to run her hands over his shoulders and neck, sliding them around his back and chest and arms, marveling at the soft skin and hard panes of muscle. She reached out and touched his remaining nipple, feeling how, like her own, it hardened when being stimulated. She pushed herself a little more upright and craned her neck to flick her tongue against it. It was an awkward position for both of them, but she felt exhilarated when she heard his gasp and hitch as he exclaimed, “Gods, Sansa!” He was carrying himself by his arms and she noticed how he shook as she licked him at the spot again.

“Lie down,” she said, and he collapsed next to her, chest heaving.

She pushed away the linen covering herself and straddled him, feeling bold and completely free for the first time in her life. Beneath her, he tensed up, however, and she realized it was because of what was no longer there. But she had already learned so much. Before tonight, she had thought sex was about coupling and pain, but Theon had shown her differently. It was about trust, about making the other person feel good in any way possible. What was or was not between his legs meant nothing in that regard. Besides, she knew more about pleasing him than he might think. 

She had learned what Ser Loras was by accident. Two servants had been gossiping within her earshot shortly after Ser Loras had been sent away. And she had asked Shae what a man might gain from lying with another man? Shae had been utmost informative, and so, Sansa knew what was hidden inside a man and where to find it. In theory, at least. Up until now, she had thought of it as equally embarrassing and disgusting but she had been wrong. There was nothing about Theon that was disgusting. And she wanted to prove that to him. She bent her head and kissed him, already loving their mutual play of tongues and teeth, of shared breaths mingling. Loving the way his eyes widened at the sight of her, of the way his long neck looked when he threw his head back as she mouthed at his nipple, including the one that was no longer there. She captured his hands in hers. She stretched up and licked the hollow where his neck began and proceeded to lick up to the area on his neck that bobbed when he swallowed or made a sound, tasting salt on his skin, tasting Theon himself. She hummed in pleasure and bit the tendon on his neck just lightly, making him squirm. 

“You’re a fast learner,” he gasped. “I’m really not,” she said with a smile. “But when a teacher is as good as you are, I suppose I am.” He looked flushed and lovely as he grinned up at her. “Please,” he begged, “Let me taste your sweet lips again.”

“In a moment,” she said. “Stay here,” and she jumped off the bed, laughing at his protests. She dashed over to where the tub had been and searched the small cupboard containing soap and, ah, there, the flower-scented oils. She picked the one she liked the most, and returned to the bed, placing the oil on the nightstand. 

Theon’s eyes got round and big. “Sansa,” he asked without being able to form a full sentence.

She felt color blossom up her neck and face. “In King’s Landing I had a maid, and – she told me how a man may be pleasured with – with… “ She wanted to curse herself for being unable to say the words especially now that she stood completely naked in front of him and wanted both of them to try and do everything, but she just couldn’t say it. 

“I know what you refer to,” Theon replied for her, but his expression was wary, and his eyes skidded away from hers. “I look… wrong,” he mumbled. “and I – it will only disgust you.” 

“You look like the strongest man, I know,” she replied calmly and sat down on the bed. “Like a handsome lord and prince and the only man, I’ll allow into my bed.”

“Sansa,” he said, and tears formed in his eyes. “Come here, let me hold you. I want to hold you for a moment, please.”

She lay down and fitted herself against him and let him wrap his arms around her. She felt his shuddering breaths and his tears, and nearly gasped from how hard he hugged her. “I love you,” he whispered fiercely into her shoulder. “I shouldn’t, I don’t deserve you, but I do. But – I don’t know if this will work for me. Will you allow me some time before we try? It isn’t that I don’t trust you because I do. With all my heart. But I fear… I fear I won’t be able to relax. And then it’ll hurt too much. I’m sorry.”

She pushed back a little to look at him. “I would never do anything to hurt you. If done right, it’s not supposed to cause pain.” 

She was a little uncertain about that, but Shae had told her that men who were into this sort of thing couldn’t get enough of it. It shouldn’t cause pain then, should it? She searched his eyes. “Theon, did he… were you…?”

His breath was uneven. “Ramsay preferred women,” he said. “But more than anything, he liked to hurt people. In any way, he could. And – oh gods, Sansa, _you know_. And yet, here you are and I’m... I’ve – I’ve no right to – “ She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “You have every right,” she whispered. She looked at him sadly and kissed him softly on his lips. “Forget about the oil. All I want is to be here with you. Where I feel good and safe. And you make me feel good and safe, Theon.”

He kissed her back. “And you me,” he whispered. He rolled her gently over, bracing himself on his elbows. He breathed in deeply through his nose, studying her, memorizing every freckle, every beauty mark, everything. He bent his head and kissed her again, and she met him eagerly. The feeling of her arms around his neck and her warm breath tickling him, the little sounds she made, how sweet she tasted, drew him back to the here and now, to feeling joy and desire.

He moved further down, the bedding sliding off of him entirely, but no longer caring that he wasn’t covered. “They are still here,” he informed her happily before burying himself in her soft breasts once more. She laughed and soon, she arched upwards in want again. Bracing himself on his hands, he licked her belly bottom which made her giggle and squirm. He laughed breathlessly and continued south. He blew hot air on her sex without touching her, and she reacted by twitching her hips slightly upwards. He could smell her, and the scent was salty-sweet and heady. He’d never wanted to please a woman as much as he wanted to please Sansa now. He wanted her eyes to roll back in her head and her world to narrow down into nothing but a mind-blowing, sensational, out of this world peak. The thought alone nearly made him feel like coming himself although that shouldn’t be possible – and yet, it felt like it. He wanted to taste her but feared it might be too much for her and so he drew himself back up to face her, lay down on his side next to her, and slipped his arm in under her to cushion her head. He kissed her cheek and her lips, letting his free hand glide down her body, right down to the edge of her red curls. Her breathing was unsteady but the look in her eyes didn’t show fear. “May I touch you there,” he asked, his voice deep and serious. She nodded. “Yes.”

She was silky soft.

“Theon,” she breathed. “Oh, Theon. I – I love this. I love this.” His fingers moved carefully in between her soft folds, and slowly up and down and up towards her sensitive bud, slicked by her own juices. It felt like touching velvet petals. “Gods!” she burst out and arched upwards, chasing after his touch. He covered her mouth with his and let his tongue mirror and enhance what his fingers did, up and down, twirling, adding pressure the right places but keeping his motions controlled and soft, and touching right _there_ – and she forgot how to breathe, and her hips moved of their own volition and she lost her rhythm but he found it again, and her chest heaved and her body thrummed and his tongue was so warm and slippery slick and his fingers, oh, his fingers! – she could feel him _everywhere_ and it was wonderful and she – and she – and she – _oh_! She arched upwards and was rocked by wave after wave of intense pleasure. 

She gasped when it became too much and he lifted his fingers carefully but undulated his body in rhythm with hers as if hovering with her, following her down through the last spasms of pleasure, helping her back down to earth because, surely, she had just been touching the stars?

She swallowed and panted as if she had been running for miles. His chest heaved as well, and his eyes shone.

“Gods,” she gasped. “Gods, I… thank you!” and she rolled over on her side and hugged him and kissed him greedily and loudly, wrapping her legs around him, squeezing him tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and she saw how pleased he was. She smiled at him. “And now it’s my turn to please you.”

He swallowed. In a whisper, he said, “Alright,” not at all steadily.

She took the oil and poured it over her hand. She might need more so she placed the open bottle on the nightstand. She wanted Theon to feel less self-conscious about what he looked like, and she lay on her side, imitating his position from before, and kissed him as she moved her slicked hand slowly down between his legs. She wasn’t surprised to find he hadn’t spread his legs very much, but she very gently placed her hands on what was left of him, cupping him gently. She felt him push down into the mattress as if wanting to flee but it only lasted a second as he realized she was gentle and going very slow. She caressed his stump softly, letting her slippery thumb glide over and around it, enjoying its softness, and playing with it while her fingers circled and stroked the bare remains of his purse. Slowly, so slowly her fingers moved further down. She was pleased when he groaned into her mouth while spreading his legs more to give her better access. She licked his lips, and as her tongue delved inside his mouth, her fingers found his hole and spiraled in round patterns around its tiny rim. “Drowned God,” he gasped into her mouth. “Gods!”

She hummed in response and whispered, “Theon. If I do anything you don’t like, tell me and I’ll stop. All I want is to please you. Guide me if you can. I haven’t tried this before.” “Yes,” he whispered back searching her eyes, and then, “We need more oil.” He twisted his upper body to reach out and retrieve the oil and hand it to her. 

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She poured some over him and her hand, and he placed the oil back on the stand. Then he sank back and bent his knees and opened more for her. She smiled and kissed him and got up on her knees, knowing that the first hurdle was over. 

It wasn’t the sight of his cock and purse having been cut off. It wasn’t how it looked. But knowing rape and intimate, painful assaults herself, she felt icy fingers on her back. “You know,” he had told her only moments ago but so did he. And now here he was, willing to trust her just as she had trusted him. She felt a tenderness for him that nearly overwhelmed her. “I love you too, you know,” she said. He looked at her. Then he nodded just slightly, and his lips moved not quite able to form a reply, but his eyes spoke volumes. She placed one knee between his legs and bent forward to kiss his chest bracing herself on one hand while her other hand snug back to touch his entrance. She used her middle finger and pushed in just slightly. His hand shot out and took hold of her thigh, his thumb caressing her skin. He swallowed and pushed down a little, impaling himself a bit more on her fingertip. She licked his puckered nipple scar and pushed further inside and felt the tight ring of muscle give in. He gasped and his hold on her hip became a little firmer. She looked up at him. “You can go further,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It doesn’t hurt. I just have to – get used to the feeling.” And so, she did. The oil made it easier. She knew how much it could hurt and damage if penetration and friction were forced upon you when your inner skin was dry. Theon’s chest heaved and his thumb ran in circles on her thigh, his other hand clutched the covers. She pushed further in, kissing his chest. His walls were silk like, smooth, and warm. She moved her finger slightly back and forth. 

“I,” he panted, “You can use two or more fingers. I want to feel more of you. Inside me. I want to feel you so much.” He sounded feverish and desperate, but she pulled her single digit out very carefully and made sure that her fingers were properly slicked and pushed inside again. He felt very tight, and she was afraid to hurt him but he groaned and hissed, “Yes. Like that.” He whimpered and gasped as she gradually pushed deeper inside him and crooked her fingers, searching for the walnut shape, Shae had told her about. When she found it, Theon made an almost keening sound, before he gasped “Gods, yes! There! Harder, oh gods, Sansa, harder!”

She was grateful for her height because she was able to continue pressing and massaging his spot while covering his mouth with hers. He wrapped his arms around her, before taking hold of her face, looking at her as if she was the sun itself, and then he attacked her mouth, devoured her hungrily, making her gasp in need and want. She pressed herself down against his thigh, rubbing herself against him, sliding in her own slick and noticing her doing so, he let go of her and eased his hand in between her legs and started caressing her, and she moaned and pushed down harder, rhythmically and heard herself say, “Inside, Theon, please touch me inside too” and she felt his fingers glide into her, and his thumb on her pearl and maybe she had a spot too because everything was lost is amazing sensations, sighs, and lustful, rocking movements and then both of their breaths hitched and they stopped breathing and came with a cry, fingers deep inside one another. She could feel his muscles clench rhythmically around her fingers just as she could feel her own muscles spasm around his. 

She collapsed on top of him, spent and exhausted. Gingerly they extracted their fingers and dried them off on the linen. She felt his arms around her again and his heartbeat thumping against her ear. It took some time before their hearts slowed down.

“Thank you,” he whispered and pressed his lips against her hair.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” she whispered back. When he didn’t reply, she craned her neck to look up at his face. He was staring at the ceiling, his apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

They dressed in silence, and she helped him into his armor because she insisted. She tied the laces meticulously finding the task tranquil and yet utterly terrifying, but she finished it and ran her fingers through his hair. “Good as new,” she said. 

A myriad of emotions played on his face. 

“Sansa, whatever happens, please know this: I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, because then he would see her tears, but she nodded. 

***


End file.
